More than Magic
by Robbins2
Summary: Hermione is in danger and only Severus can keep her safe It all belongs to JK Rowling, nothing is mine, I'm doing it just for fun. Thanks also to Patricia Wilson and Jane Sanders whose love stories provided the inspiration for moments for Severus and Hermione to enjoy
1. Chapter 1

The call from the Minister came in just as Hermione Grainger finished a long parchment updating the uses of mobile phones. There was considerable interest among many in the wizard world in the small devices muggles used to communicate with each other.

Hermione had just finished writing up new descriptions including the definitions of words such as app, selfie and eating data. She rolled the parchment and was about to flu herself out of her office when the fire blazed and the Minister for Muggle Affairs appeared in the flames. Or at least his head did.

"Good evening Hermione. I'm glad I caught you. I am sorry to bother you at this late hour but we have just received reports of a curious incident in Chelmsford. Seems a woman was standing at her clothes line when she accidentally stepped on a stray clothes peg and found herself whisked as if by magic to the centre of Stonehenge. Coincidentally at the very time the Pixies music festival was about to start," Arthur Weasley said.

"Good evening, Arthur. Let me guess, Cotton Whitmore?" she smiled as she thought of the elderly witch renowned for her love of music festivals. "The very one. We've warned her about placing port keys before but when she's hurrying to catch the latest big thing in wizarding rock, she spares no thought for anything else. When The Sparkles played last summer four muggles were swept off to an island in the Hebrides and we had some job getting them home again. Two complained of nervousness around teapots for days afterwards," Arthur shook his head and Hermione grinned. She remembered that incident. Cotton was banned from muggle tea shops for six months afterwards.

"Anyway, the latest poor dear is back and is right now with a team from the ministry who will adjust her memory. Still, we need to organise a canvas of the neighbourhood, make certain that no one else saw anything suspicious or that Cotton hasn't left a few more magical implements lying casually in anyone's back yard. I hate to impose so late, Hermione but do you think you could run a quick once over of the area?" Arthur asked, looking apologetically at his deputy. Arthur's pale blue eyes peered hopefully at her and seemed to blaze more brightly in contrast to his thinning red hair, which along with the rosy apple blush on his cheeks made him almost blend into the fiery colours that surrounded his familiar face.

Hermione was already nodding her assent. "No problem, Arthur. I'll detour there now. Do you have the exact address?" she asked. Hermione accepted the details and her boss' thanks before he took his leave and she made ready to apparate to the location he gave her. In truth Hermione did not mind the delay. It was not as if she had any plans for the evening. For this evening or any other in the week, she thought with a curl of her lip. Unless you counted tucking up with the latest article on fat sprat ear worms that Luna sent her. She had received it this morning and it was in her brief case. Luna Lovegood relished her position as editor of The Quibbler and regularly sent Hermione editorials she thought would especially interest her.

As absorbing as ear worms undoubtedly were, Hermione welcomed the distraction from another evening at home, alone. She wasn't lonely, not really. She had her friends, she had her work, she had her books but sometimes, she missed Seamus. Their relationship had not lasted very long but it had been fun. At least mostly. It was nice to have someone to share with and Seamus had been good company. He had a deadly sharp wit and their common interests in books and history had formed the basis of their attraction.

Unfortunately, though he was comfortable to be with, Hermione couldn't deny a certain restlessness within herself. She couldn't understand it but Seamus sensed it and though he was kind about it, he had broken off the relationship. It was very amicable and they parted friends and looking back Hermione realised that it was that very lack of fervour that had unsettled her in the first place. Their break up, like their relationship was polite and thoughtful but bland.

"That's the trouble with you, Hermione, you are too exacting. What are you looking for anyway? Sparks? Keep it up and you'll end up like old Cotton. Nothing better to do than jinxing anything in sight just for a bit of excitement out of life," she said to herself as she picked up her briefcase and threw on her cloak.

In the blink of an eye her office was empty and only the echo of the shot like crack that had sounded as she apparated to a quiet, darkened suburb where though she did not know it, the unthinkable waited.

The semi detached dwelling was identical to every other in the quiet and leafy row. Neat lawns, shining cars in the drive, curtained windows lit from within.

The tortoiseshell cat perched regally on the wall beside the front drive looked completely in keeping with the rest of the image, no one would have looked at it long enough to notice the black rings about its eyes, mirroring the look of a pair of spectacles. This was the sort of neighbourhood where a cat wearing spectacles was too far fetched to be even contemplated.

The idea of a dark figure standing motionless in the shadows of the interior of the house was not to be contemplated either by any of the residents of this leafy suburb. The very idea would have struck fear into the hearts of every resident on the street, had they but known. This was a man whose past was as murky as the shadows he inhabited. A man whose intent was as irascible as steel. Whose heart could be just as cold when he chose for it to be.

The girl on her way to this house had no idea of what he intended for her and that was as it should be. He had decided his course and her fate, had she but known it was sealed. Few in the sleepy suburban estate would have encountered someone like him in their very midst before. He was familiar with both sides of the fine line standing between life and death and his countenance would have instilled terror into the heart of anyone who caught sight of him.

But none had. He had arrived here unseen, gained access to this house easily and without rousing the slightest suspicion. He would be gone before anyone even knew he had been. But he would do what he had come here to do. And for one young woman, it would be the end of things as she had always known them.

To the casual observer, it would have looked as though the young woman had walked out of the dusky shadows between street lights. Another city worker that had disembarked from the bus at the end of the street, making their way home to a late supper, maybe a quiet night in with her boyfriend.

Hermione walked smartly to the darkened house and made her way towards the front door. She was a little bit tired and anxious to complete this last minute assignment, expecting it to be the work of seconds. Arthur had told her where to find a key of the front door and as expected, she found it nestled under a flower pot by the front step.

As she let herself in, Hermione cast a quick glance over her shoulder but the other residents were already tucked in for the evening in their cosy homes. Buttery rectangles of light glowed softly from behind closed curtains and Hermione envisioned couples snuggled together on couches in front of the tv or children gathered around a kitchen table soldiering through homework. The images made her feel somewhat wearier and she gave herself a mental shake and stepped forward into the house forcing her mind to return to the job at hand. Find anything that may have been enchanted by the music mad Cotton and then she would be homeward at last.

The hand that clamped around her mouth prevented the scream from leaving her mouth and she felt herself dragged inwards while the door closed behind her, shutting out the glimpses of neighbouring houses.

Hermione's heart pounded but when she would have reached for her wand, she found that an arm had reached to pin her arms by her sides, as though held by a band of steel. She struggled with every ounce of strength she had but it was futile, she may as well have been hit by a binding charm.

The house was in darkness and in the gloom all she could see were shadowy shapes of furniture as she felt herself being dragged backwards.

"I am going to let you go in a second but if you make a sound, I will stupefy you. Do you hear me, Miss Grainger?" the sinister whisper reached her ears, the voice was calm and controlled and incongruous though it was, Hermione recognised it. It would have been impossible not to but she wasn't sure if her frightened mind was playing some kind of bizarre trick on her.

If anything, the familiar rasp had instilled more terror in her than she had already felt. What was going on and why was someone pretending to be a man whose legend stood tall in the wizarding world? She could not answer these questions but she knew one thing. They meant she was in a lot of trouble.

She struggled more fiercely and was rewarded only with a rough tug backwards and she found herself pinioned against the hard body of her attacker, breath almost driven from her lungs. "Stop fighting me and listen, you silly girl," the imposter instructed and something in the imperious tone reached her and she stilled. Not that she had much choice, she was no match for his strength. She was being held too tightly to break away and stupidly, she had left her wand in her sleeve, as unreachable as though she had left it in her office.

"I am not going to hurt you. I will let you go but you must calm down first. Just take it easy and you will be fine," the voice insisted. The sound made Hermione's stomach twist. How she wished that the true owner of that voice was here now. She had not seen him in many years but Severus Snape was a fearsome opponent and this sinister being would have stood no chance against him.

He held her for several seconds longer but it was enough for Hermione to drive back the panic that had assailed her initially. Her rational mind began to function even as the strands of raw dread receded to a dull fear. She had to regain control. Play along, she told herself. That was the first thing.

She nodded against the hand that was pressed against her mouth, signalling her acquiescence. Almost instantly she felt his grip loosen and she tore from him, swinging around to confront whatever monster had been lurking with the intention of waylaying her.

It was dark inside the house, the shaded interior making it difficult to make out much of anything, other than the vague outline of the a nearby couch and the veiled window. The man was a silhouette against the window, the faint light from the moon and streetlights outside casting him into darker relief.

One thing the gloom could not disguise was that he had his wand pointed at her and before she could process another thought he pointed it at her. "Expelliarmus," his voice was like the crack of a whip.

Her wand flew from her before even as she reached to extract it from its hiding place in her sleeve. Hermione felt the pulse of fear escalate and fought to bring it under control. She had to keep a clear head, her life may very well depend upon it.

The hateful figure of her attacker moved forward and even as she took a retreating step away from him, her eyes were adjusting to the dark and she could see his face. Her eyes were already wide in her fright but they rounded further as recognition dawned but comprehension failed her. For the first time in her life, Hermione Grainger lacked the capacity to mentally process what she was seeing.

He raised his wand yet again and Hermione stared, transfixed and unable to find a single word as he pointed it. "Muffliato," he cried but she barely heard the silencing spell he cast because the world was falling away and darkness was claiming her, inky fingers pulling her away from the scene before her eyes, from a threat too awful to believe.

Snape saw her fall and moved with lightening speed to catch her, taking her up once more in his arms. She felt light, no burden at all for him. He looked down upon her, unsettled to see the form of a young woman in his arms. As he remembered her, she was a child, a student, whose only distinguishing feature was her blazing intellect. In his arms was a woman, her honey coloured hair spilling over his arm. He felt her soft curves press against him, became aware of the citrus scent of her perfume. She looked achingly familiar to him, yet different.

What was he doing? Terrifying a young woman into unconsciousness? And what has she been thinking of, anyway, setting foot into unknown territory without her wand? Lucky to be still alive, that's what she was.

He set her unmoving form on the couch. He aimed his wand at the muggle light form attached to the ceiling above their heads and immediately the room filled with cheery light. He looked down at the prone woman before him. He had not seen her for some years now. In his mind he saw her as the gangly teen he had last encountered, a girl who stood at the cusp of womanhood, poised like a butterfly before first flight.

He saw now that she was no longer the awkward child to whom he owed his life. She was a young woman and even in a dead faint, she was not without beauty, dark lashes resting against prominent cheekbones, rosebud lips that were slightly parted and the hair that had once cascaded around her face in unruly curls was now a chestnut cloud that lay fanned against the cushion beneath her.

He took a moment to stare. The last time he had seen this girl she had been frantic, her butterscotch eyes boring into his, pleading with him to fight, to resist the poison that was coursing through him. He remembered yet that even as he felt death's grip drain the warmth from him, her hands had pressed against his skin, staunching the flow of his life blood as it drained from him. Her lips had said that incantation that had ultimately saved his life. The last thing he remembered seeing before waking up in the hospital was her eyes, tear filled and holding him to this earth with the most tenuous of holds.

Once again he found himself staring into their chocolate depths as her eyelids fluttered open and this time, he saw fear and confusion at war. Hermione returned to consciousness to meet the dark gaze of a man she had thought a hero. There was no spark of empathy in the black depths as they regarded her as they might an insect on the dissecting table. By sheer force of instinct she struggled to sit up, to get away but his hands were already reaching for her, taking her shoulders, pressing her back against the cushions of the couch she was lying on.

"Easy now, Miss Grainger. Just stay still," he said and she shrank back against the over stuffed couch. "What is going on? Who are you?" she demanded even though as she looked into his face her eyes told her she knew the answer. The trouble was, her brain would not accept it. Why would Professor Snape, Hogwarts Headmaster and war hero of great renown be here now, accosting her? It made no sense and everything in Hermione's world made sense these days.

"Unless you have amnesia, I think you know very well who I am. You fainted, that is what is going on. There is much you need to know but I'm afraid I don't have the time to explain it just at this moment. But I can tell you this, Miss Grainger. You are in danger and that is why…"

She struggled into a sitting position on the couch. He sounded rational and very much like his old self, the old self she remembered. The Potions Master, eloquent but economical with his words. Detached from every scenario as though standing behind invisible glass.

"Danger? I have just been manhandled by you! You scare me half to death and now you are issuing threats. Professor Snape, I don't know if this is your idea of a fun reunion with past pupils but it is not amusing, I promise you," she said, hoping her tone betrayed none of the residual fear that still sizzled through her.

"There is nothing amusing about any of this! Now for the last time, you need to listen!" he growled at her, his eyes blazing at her but Hermione was shaking her head.

"What would happen if I stood up and walked out of here right now?" she asked, looking at him as though expecting him to turn into a fire breathing dragon at any second. "Right now? You would fall flat on your face. You are whiter than a ghost, Miss Grainger," he sneered. "If I hadn't fainted, I mean. Would you let me leave?" she asked and he curled his lip. So she hadn't changed so much after all. Always with the perceptive questions.

"No."

His answer did not surprise her and though she was feeling more bewildered by the second, anger was slowly replacing the blind terror that she had felt earlier.

"Arthur Weasley sent me here, Professor. He knows where I am. If anything were to happen to me, he would raise the alarm. I am his Secretary now, in case you are not aware of it. Which means you are assailing a Ministry official. That is not a wise course of action for you, no matter how high your standing since… since the war," she said in her best autocratic tone.

"Always the insufferable know it all, Miss Grainger. I bow to your superior judgement. This is not a good idea, not a good idea at all. But the choice is not mine to make. Or yours. So be a good girl and do as I say and this will be over all the quicker," he sneered.

Hermione's mind was racing. He had clearly gone mad. Perhaps he was under some sort of behaviour altering spell, maybe one of his own potions had backfired on him. Whatever the reason, Severus Snape had gone off the deep end and she knew only that she had to get out of here. She would tell Arthur and Snape would get the help he so obviously needed.

"Okay then, Professor. Why don't you give me back my wand and then you can tell me what this is all about and we will fix it," she tried a different tack but his lips were upturned in a sardonic smirk before she finished her sentence.

"On your feet Miss Grainger. It is time to go," he said, as though she had not spoken. He had been perched beside her on the couch where she lay but as he rose to his feet, she was glad to comply, at least about standing up. She could better regain control now that she was upright and her head cleared of panic. Not that she had any intention of going anywhere with him, not when he had clearly lost his marbles.

She took an appraising look at him. Professor Snape, the most feared teacher at Hogwarts, one of the most celebrated heroes the war against Voldemort had produced, the man whose life had almost slipped away before her very eyes the last time they had met.

Still tall and thin, his angular features were hawk like, patrician nose, jutting chin giving his face an arrogant set that the dispassionate gaze of his black eyes did little to dissipate. There were wisps of grey beginning to shade the hair at his temples and always grim of expression, the lines around his eyes had deepened, making him appear more austere than ever.

His robes were immaculate, pressed sharp and he stood now with an almost eerie stillness, another trait that she remembered. His poise had always given him a weight of authority that few ever dared question. Perfectly composed as always, Professor Snape did not appear as she imagined a mad man would. In fact he looked like the distinguished and elegant academic he had fashioned himself into since the war.

"Go where, Professor? I told you, I am here on Ministry duty. I.. I am sure that it would be lovely to catch up and all that but this is hardly the time or the best way to go about it," she replied haughtily.

"Miss Grainger, time is running out. I am aware why you are here. Arthur picked the time and place. Now we do not have time for lengthy explanations. It will be easier by far if you co-operate. But believe me, one way or the other we must leave. Now!" he snapped but she inched away from him. He was not making sense and it appeared talking rationally to him was a waste of time.

"What do you mean Arthur picked the time and place? Professor, before you so something you will regret, give me back my wand and we will forget this happened. No one has to know…" she began but she saw his lips tighten impatiently. It was an expression she remembered well. It was the one that had reduced many a student to a trembling heap before him.

He moved rapidly and closed the distance between them in a single stride to take hold of her arm, making her heart fly to her throat, strangling the words before she could form them. "Enough, Miss Grainger. Not another word. I have tried asking you nicely. If you do not have the ability to listen, then from here, we do it my way," he growled, towering over her with a menace that made her mouth go suddenly dry. His black eyes glinted at her with a resolve that she knew she could never hope to overcome.

They were the last thing she saw before she felt herself being jerked away, her feet leaving the carpeted floor of the neat suburban home and the world blurring before her as he apparated with her, taking Hermione clean from her own safe world and unceremoniously into his.

Within a heartbeat, Hermione found herself back on solid ground and just as quickly he let go of her. Without pausing to take stock of where they were, Hermione rose stormy eyes to his. "What do you think you are doing? Kidnapping, Professor? Are you that eager for a trip to Azkaban? Because you are going to earn a one way ticket if you don't start thinking straight! I have to get back. I am leaving, now and if you know what is good for you, do not try to stand in my way or the Minister for Magic will hear of it," she said forcefully. She was beginning to feel truly frightened now. Snape had broken the law and who knew what ridiculous notions he was entertaining.

"Miss Grainger, allow me to save you some trouble. The Minister for Magic is aware that you are, as of this evening on a sabbatical from work. It was a sudden emergency and though the details are not yet clear, it seems you have had a family emergency and are unavailable for the foreseeable future. Arthur Weasley has passed on the news and will be replacing you in his department temporarily and with immediate effect. Your flat has been cleared of your belongings and is, even as we speak being sub let by a perfectly respectable young man who is in the UK for a number of weeks, an ecology student from Germany whose speciality is the Dauberon bat. He keeps unsociable hours and is practically invisible," Snape listed out a story that could not be true. For one second, Hermione thought she might faint again. Apparently Snape thought so too because he took half a step towards her but Hermione held her hands up, palm outwards as though to guard against him.

"My job. My flat. You have taken all of it away? Why, Professor? What do you want from me?" she asked, feeling desperately helpless. It was a feeling that she was not accustomed to and did not care for.

He saw the colour leave her face and he saw the first glimmer of tears in her eyes. Snape clenched his jaw. This is what comes of being too stubborn to bloody well listen, he thought to himself. Hermione Grainger had not changed one iota since she had sat before him in her Hogwarts robes, still single minded to the point of aggravation.

"If you would do yourself a favour and listen to what I am saying, you hard headed brat, you would save yourself a lot of grief. You are not going to be harmed. This is a passing inconvenience and I will answer as many of your questions as I can but you must calm down and stop acting as though I am about to cut your throat!" he ran his fingers through his hair, still longer than was fashionable and silkily black.

A pulsing silence followed as he fought to control his temper and she struggled to bring her fear back to manageable levels. There was only the sound of their breathing and Hermione cast her eyes down, ashamed at the indignity of finding herself on the edge of tears. She could not cry in front of this heartless beast.

"Tea is served, Sir," a tremulous voice announced as though someone was speaking from a great distance away. Hermione's head shot up at the sound and she looked about for the source. At first she thought she had imagined the voice but then she looked down and saw the aged form of a house elf, his back hunched over, his head devoid of hair except for a few feathery grey strands. Wrinkled skin looking papery thin covered a tiny frame that seemed impossibly frail. Yet when his cobalt eyes met hers, Hermione saw the flinty strength still as she recalled it.

"Kreacher?" she gasped, a spark of real delight igniting at the sight of the aged creature. She looked at him as though gazing upon a long lost friend.

"Tea is ready. When Master wants," the elf said again, turning away without the slightest indication that he had saw or heard Hermione. "The mud blood speaks my name. This is what I am reduced to," the elderly elf whispered in a bitter undertone, deliberately intended to carry and in other circumstances, Hermione would have smiled. Frail and old beyond counting, the magical creature had not changed at all. She and her friends owed him an enormous debt. Without him, none of them would be alive.

"Remember Kreacher, I always have more clothing than I know what to do with. See to it that you don't make my mind up for me," Snape said in a satin tone that little betrayed the threat his words carried. The gift of clothes was the signal of freedom for house elves, the final and awful symbol of dismissal from a family they had built their lives around.

Hermione looked at him as though he had spat in her soup. He saw the accusation in her eyes. "Why do you speak to him like that?" she demanded as though the elf's insult to her had been but an eccentric but well intentioned greeting. Snape snorted. "I see you have changed very little, Miss Grainger. I wish that was a reassuring concept."

She began to take stock of her surroundings. They were standing in a tiled hallway, muted light flickering from a chandalier overhead. A stairs rose behind her, old wood, darkened with age. A door opened to her left, leading into a lighted room. They were in a house and it appeared large and venerable. His house?

"Where are we?" she asked. "Snape Manor. Welcome to my home, Miss Grainger," he replied smoothly, as though greeting a guest and this was all completely normal. Hermione shook her head as though trying to rouse herself from a bad dream.

"There has been a huge mistake. Just let me go and we can sort it out. Or I could just fire call Arthur and we can… ," she began, keeping her tone calm and reasonable. She was starting to feel truly afraid but knew that cold reason may just reach him.

When he advanced towards her, his eyes flat and hard, his mouth set in a firm line, she caught herself before she gave in to the instinctive desire to step back. She would not show him her fear. She straightened her back and glared at him but quailed under the artic gaze he raked over her.

Inches from her he stopped and lowered his head as if he were about to whisper a confidence. Hermione saw the angular features, so familiar to her, yet somehow different. He was the austere teacher she remembered, yet she also remembered the man who had put his own life on the line to save others, whose blood had oozed through her fingers, even as she had prayed for his life force to stay strong.

He was older now and though he would never be described handsome, she was a little surprised to notice that there was a compelling quality in his face. The wings of grey at his temples, the crows feet at his eyes gave him a depth that would have made him an attractive man if he wasn't looking very much as though he was about to squeeze the life out of her.

She had never noticed before that he had almost perfect bone structure, pronounced cheek bones and a square jaw that gave him classical features, framed by the dark hair that tumbled in a satin sheen to his shoulders.

It was through gritted teeth that he spoke. "If there comes a moment when you stop this infernal chattering I will explain why you are here, Miss Grainger. Know that you are in danger and it is imperative that you co-operate with a few simple measures that are purely for your own good," he snarled.

His stern face was inches from hers, so much so, she could feel his breath on her skin, she could smell the musky scent of him. He smelled faintly of old parchment and dried spices. Hermione realised that this was the second time he had spoken of danger. She frowned as her unease spiked all the more. What was he intending to do to her?

He read the thought in the alarmed eyes that locked on his. He sighed deeply and fought the urge to take hold of her and shake her until her bones rattled. It occurred to him that this was unlikely to reassure her that he was not the threat and so he folded his arms over his chest and gave her a flinty stare.

"Please," was all she managed to say. He closed his eyes, hoping to block the pleading he saw in the look she was giving him. In response, a rare feeling came to him. She looked young and painfully vulnerable. He suddenly wanted to see the laughing girl that shimmered along the aged corridors of Hogwarts. Before the war, before darkness came. He wanted to see what the bright spark of the promise she had shown had flared into. By all accounts she was stunningly capable. She had entered the ministry as a lowly clerk but her ascent to the position of secretary was swift and sure. It was an open secret that within a year or so, she would have her choice of a ministerial post of her own. Her reputation went far and wide in the wizarding world. Gifted was the word most often used in connection with her name.

He had always wondered about her in the years after. He had kept an eye on her progress. Always from afar. He owed his life to her. There was something about the intimacy of that fact that made him uncomfortable. Made it impossible for him to seek her out. He was happy to know that she was living her life, living it well, happy and successful.

And now he had ripped her from it and she was standing before him begging for it back.

He opened his eye and stared with hard won equanimity at his unwilling visitor.

"Miss Grainger. Will you join me for some tea? Kreacher has prepared a light supper. We have much to discuss. No reason to do so on empty stomachs ," he stood to one side and with a sweep of his hand, he indicated that she should preceed him into a room off the hallway, the dining room, she supposed.

He was inviting her to tea? Sounding as if this was a perfectly routine social call. An old friend dropping in unexpectedly. She was a guest and he was being the polite host. Hermione felt a bizarre laugh rise in her throat. Or maybe it was a scream. Either way, she suppressed it. "You have lost your mind," she gasped, realising too late the folly of antagonising someone whose faculties were in an already perilous condition.

"It is starting to feel very much like it," he concurred with a heart felt sigh. Then he appeared to regain the self control he guarded zealously.

"Come, sit down, eat. I have not poisoned the food, I promise you. I will answer any question you have. But I cannot let you leave. I am no more enamoured of the idea than you are, I assure you but for the moment, you are my house guest. In the absence of a choice for either of us, I suggest we are civilised about it," he said in a voice that was as close to coaxing as he was ever likely to get.

Hermione looked at him and made her mind up. She was stuck, at least for now. Until she devised a way to get in touch with Arthur or Harry or Ron, she would play along with Snape. Maybe if she appeared docile enough, he would return her wand. Certainly direct confrontation was not having much success. Her only hope of escape was to keep her wits and above all, to avoid invoking his ire. She was in danger, he had said and she truly knew him to be a very dangerous man. This as no time to fall apart.

A fire burned in the iron grate in the dining room where a large mahogany table gleamed with silverware freshly laid by the aged house elf.

Hermione sat at the seat he indicated for her. "Have you eaten this evening?" he asked and she shook her head. The situation was slipping from the treacherous to the ridiculous and for several seconds, Hermione wondered if this was a prank that someone was playing on her. Perhaps Ron or Ginny. Or maybe someone at the Ministry thought getting a good rise out of her would be a laugh.

He spooned steaming soup from a silver tureen on the table into a china bowl and set it before her. "Asparagus. It is Kreacher's speciality. I fact, I have a suspicion it is the only soup he can make, for it is the only one I have ever known him to serve," Snape said.

He set a second bowl in front of his own place setting and took his seat. He helped himself to one of the bread rolls heaped on a platter before them.

"I'm sure it will be lovely," Hermione said. She wondered what etiquette was expected of kidnapped people and again, a hysterical laugh threatened. She cut it off by swallowing a mouthful of soup, which in fact was quite delicious.

"Professor, what is going on? Why am I here?" she asked. He took a mouthful of his own soup, swallowed and set the spoon down before replying.

"Miss Grainger, you are in possession of a magical object given to you many years ago by Professor McGonagall while you were still a student at Hogwarts, is that correct?" he asked. Hermione nodded, uncertain where this was going. "The time turner? Yes, it was given to me, but.. " she began but he rose a shapely hand for her to be silent.

"Do not say any more of it. The fact that you are believed to have possession of it has put you in grave danger. The Order has come into solid information that this object is being sought and should it fall into the wrong hands, the consequences would be too devastating to contemplate," he said.

"Sought by whom? And for what purpose?" she asked, perplexed. "Someone you know quite well, Miss Grainger. Lucius Malfoy. He has just recently learned of its existence. He has made a mission of finding it. His aim is to use it to turn back time. To save the Dark Lord and restore him," Snape said and Hermione's head spun.

The spoon in her hand sagged limply and the soup dribbled back into the forgotten bowl.

Her appetite gone, Hermione set worried eyes on his. "Why? Surely Malfoy has much reason as any of the rest of us to be glad that Vol… that the war is over," she said, a cold dread worming through her as though her very blood had been chilled.

"His fortune is gone. He is on the fringe of our society. My sources indicate that the manor is but a hollow husk now. My guess is that Malfoy has somehow convinced himself that bringing back the Dark Lord, choosing the right moment in the past will see him reclaim his own position as it once was. What we do not know is just how many others Malfoy had won over to his side with this mad scheme. What we know for certain is that he is aware that you are the last known holder of the time turner and that he is already moving to claim it. You are no longer safe, Miss Grainger."

Hermione heard the words and the cold feeling intensified. Her very self felt numbed.

"What do I do, Professor? How do I stop him?" she asked and Snape looked into her frightened eyes and found a spark of respect stir for the instinctive courage she was showing. "You simply have to disappear. He can have no inkling where you have gone to. That is why you are here. Malfoy will be certainly keeping an eye on your place of work, your home, your friends, the places you are known to frequent," he said.

"But why wasn't I told about this? If the Order knows, then why have I been kept in the dark all of this time?" Hermione felt the welcome heat of anger stir, dissipating the clammy fear that had been coursing through her.

"I have told you, Malfoy is watching, Miss Grainger. The slightest clue that you knew of it and he would act. We cannot take a risk like that. So Arthur came up with tonight's ruse. I am sorry that you have been discomfited but you must see that we had good reason…?" he began but Hermione was getting to her feet and shaking her head.

"Discomfited? Discomfited? You assaulted me, Terrorised me. Kidnapped me. You are, I do believe holding me against my will. And all of this, all of it has been conspired by people I thought to be my friends. Arthur set me up to be kidnapped? Did it occur to any of you to come to me and tell me about any of this? If I am the one in so much danger, why am I the last to know about it?"

She was aware that her voice has risen to a near scream as she finished speaking but she didn't care. She had been lied to and bundled about like a sack of potatoes and most offensive of all, treated like child.

"Miss Grainger, I appreciate you have had a shock. But believe me, hysterics will not do you any good at this point," Snape said with barely concealed impatience.

To her mortification, tears once again burned hotly behind her eyes. "So what will, Professor? The loss of my job? Of my home? How dare you? How dare all of you railroad me like this!" she yelled.

Snape was also on his feet now. And a fire was smouldering in his own eyes. "Get a hold on yourself. You are acting like a spoiled child. Do you realise the care that the Ministry and the Order have dedicated to keeping you out of harm's way? If you suppose that I am relishing having you foisted on me, then you are much mistaken. There is no other choice. Believe me," he snarled at her.

Hermione's face flushed at the insult.

"There is always another choice, Professor," Hermione whispered. "Everything I have worked for is gone in an instant and I never even saw it coming," she sobbed. He stepped around the table and stood before her, maintaining a measured distance between them. To his amazement, he felt an impulse to draw her to him, to comfort the distress he saw in her. He scowled at the unfamiliar thought.

"Miss Grainger, this is a temporary situation. Once the time turner is destroyed, Malfoy will be on his way to Azkaban and you will be back in your own home, able to resume your own life and this will be but a bad dream. You will be safe and free. I guarantee it," he said.

Hermione rose tearful eyes to meet his black gaze. His face was intent and she would have sworn, sincere. Then again, he was a consummate liar, a man who had secured victory in the war by his wits, his ability to act a role perfectly.

"I have no options here, do I Professor?" she sniffed, blinking back the glistening tears.

"Not quite true, Miss Grainger. You can make this difficult or you can see sense and co-operate. Obviously I would recommend the latter, for both our sakes. I have no desire to spend the next few weeks listening to a diatribe on my general worthlessness. Nor do I wish to have you spend them hexed to your bed posts but know this, if you give me any trouble then I will not hesitate," his brows drew together in a ferocious frown and his eyes glinted wickedly at her.

She quailed. "You are a monster!" she squeaked. "That would be the consensus view, Miss Grainger," he said, his voice gravely and quiet.

He saw her eyes widen and noticed how her breasts rose at her intake of breath. Her lips were parted and her cheeks were flushed pink as emotion coursed through her.

He wondered fleetingly just how those lips would taste, how her skin would feel if her were to reach out and to touch her. He imagined summer days and light and warmth.

She frowned at the pensive expression in his face. Something had changed in the way he was looking at her. Gone was the look that said he clearly wanted to throttle her and in its place was a speculative regard that made her feel even more vulnerable, exposed somehow. She fought an instinct to fold her arms over her breasts.

"Bed posts? If I am to be your guest, Professor, then where am I to stay?" she asked, suddenly.

Snape's expression veiled. He was shaken at the turn his thoughts had taken. He knew that he had unsettled her but he felt anger flicker at himself. He was allowing her silly hysteria to distract him. What was wrong with him? Had he become so solitary that the mere sight of a female could reduce him to a drooling adolescent boy?

"Miss Grainger, do not flatter yourself that your allure is such that I am likely to lose the run of myself," he sneered at her.

"We may be shackled together for the time being, so to speak but the little privacy I have left, I intend to preserve. This is a large house, though you may not have had the chance to discover for yourself as of yet. A room has been prepared for you. If you are supposing you can flutter your eyelashes at me and secure your freedom, then I promise you, you are wasting efforts best served directed at young men more in your league," he jibed.

Hermione swallowed and felt indignation swell within her. "I was doing no such thing! You are vile human being!" she spat at him. He gave her the ghost of a smile. "Just hold that thought, Miss Grainger and we shall get along famously."

He turned from her and with a gesture of his wand he had summoned Kreacher who appeared with a loud crack. He bowed so low before Snape, his hooked nose almost touched the carpet. The corner of his eyes flicked to Hermione, undisguised distrust gleaming.

"Kreacher show our guest to her room," Snape ordered, stalking towards the door, not taking the time to look back or to say another word to her.

The room that Kreacher delivered to, muttering a stream of insults under his breath with every step was on the first floor. Hermione opened the door to find a comfortable looking room, lit overhead with a candle laden chandalier. The bed was small but was covered with a cotton spread that looked hand stitched. Impossibly, a small bag lay on the floor beside the locker. "Master sent me to fetch some of your things. This is what Kreacher is reduced to, carrying for a worthless wretch now," the old elf pointed to the bag as though it might explode at any moment. Hermione opened it and found to he surprise that several changes of clothes were carefully packed within, neatly folded. Some of her personal possessions were also in the bag, including some photos of she and Harry and Ron and others of her parents. There were also some of her books, her favourites, as it happened, the covers frayed and dog eared from being read and re-read.

Hermione was touched and looked at the aged elf. "You chose these?" she asked, running her fingers over the familiar things, finding more comfort from having them than she could have imagined.

"Kreacher just threw what he could find into the bag. No time to waste touching dirty things!" he snarled but Hermione saw the care he had taken in folding her clothes, the thoughtful selection of her favourite items. His kindness threatened tears anew. "Thank you, Kreacher," she said but he was already bowing and withdrawing. "It's not as though Kreacher does not have enough to do. Now another one to feed and fetch for," he was still expostulating as he apparated with a loud crack, leaving Hermione alone and feeling suddenly overwhelmed as silence settled around her.


	2. Chapter 2

She sat down on the edge of the bed, clasping her hands between her knees and for several seconds, felt hopelessness wash over her. She was out of her depth, overwhelmed by the way events had spun so incredibly out of her control. And, she admitted to herself now that she was alone, she was frightened. The news that Snape had imparted was terrifying enough, Merlin knew. The very idea that Lucius Malfoy was plotting to reinstate Lord Voldemort was enough to make her sick to her stomach. People she loved would die, that was for certain. Her own survival would be doubtful and the very world as they knew it would cease to exist. She thought of those who had died during the war, dear friends all. Their sacrifice would have been for nothing. It could not happen. Malfoy's plans were evil and more, they were mad, the ravings of a lunatic.

Yet, the cold dread that seemed to permeate through to very marrow of her bones did not come from thoughts of Malfoy or of the revival of the darkest wizard the world had ever known. No, Hermione knew that the clammy and cloying fear that threatened to consume her came from a different place altogether. Malfoy, Voldemort, these were old bogeys, old enemies , defeated once and in consequence their horror dimmed a little in her mind. Finding herself completely powerless, that was something else again, new and unwelcome territory. All of the compass points of her life had been stripped away, her job, her home, her friends. In their stead, their remained only a face from the past. Someone who walked in shadow, a man who had blood on his hands. He was asking her to trust him, no, he was presenting her with that stark and solitary choice and in truth, even now, even after everything, Hermione didn't know if she could.

If he could lay waste to everything she had built for herself, blow her entire life away as though brushing aside an insect in his path without her ever suspecting even a hint of it, then what was next? And if Malfoy was as intent as he said on getting hold of the time turner, what was to stop Snape from deciding that she herself was a problem to be dealt with? Who knew where she was? He had told her that the entire Order of the Phoenix were involved in this bizarre scheme, her boss, all of her friends. Yet she only had his word for that, for any of the fantastic things she had heard tonight. None of her friends had made the slightest attempt to warn her. Surely Harry or Ron would not have stood by in silence while such danger gathered around her? Hermione couldn't believe such a thing.

Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees, despite the warm glow of the embers in the old iron grate on the opposite wall. She was a ship at sea without a rudder and her only point of reference was one man whose own agenda was a mystery. Hermione felt something shift within her, anger stirred, not the frantic temper driven protests she had made when Snape snatched her but a focused, intent fury and it felt good. She felt it roll to life, felt it keenly and with it came an edge that was absent before.

Hermione felt her mind clear, her senses sharpen. She welcomed the resolve that flared and drove back the weakness that had sapped her thinking since the moment she walked into Minnie Winkworth's suburban home.

Energy pulsed and she rose to her feet, paced several times on the ancient rug beneath her feet, her thoughts coming swiftly now. Kreacher had not locked the door but she had no wand. Undoubtedly Snape had magical protections on the exits of the house. Walking out of here was not an option. She could not apparate or flu out without her wand. That left communication. She had to get a message out to Harry or Ron. Once they knew what was going on, she would be as good as free. There was only one way Hermione could think of to do this. Kreacher. The surly little elf had been an ally in the past, an unexpected friend in a very dark time. He feared Snape, that was a given but he had broken ranks before, at a time when it mattered most. He was her only hope now, Hermione had to believe that he would find again the reserves of courage to do the right thing.

Morning came bright and with it, Hermione felt a clarity in her own mind that pleased her. She had slept better than she expected she would, in fact, she had drifted off mere moments after resting her head on the pillow. The bed had been soft, the covers warm and she supposed the exertions of the evening had drained her more than she had known.

She awoke, initially confused at the unfamiliar surroundings but the previous night came back to her like a bad dream surfacing in uncomfortable memories and for a single heartbeat she wondered if she had somehow dreamed the lot but then she allowed herself to admit the truth. She was a hostage in the home of her former Professor and, if he was to be believed, in mortal peril from an old enemy she did not know was a threat to her.

Right now, in the brilliant light of day, the only menace she faced was from Severus Snape. It was he who had single handedly ripped her from her home, her job, her friends. Reasoning with him was clearly not an option, so Hermione rose from the embrace of the bedcovers resolved to set about another way to reclaim her freedom.

When she had dressed, she tentatively tried the handle on the door, fully expecting it to be locked. To her surprise, it opened easily. She made her way along the corridor, descending the stairs and was drawn to the dining room, where the aroma of rich coffee wafted alluringly.

At the door, she hesitated. The dark clothed Professor was seated at the table, one leg crossed over the other, a newspaper in his hand, the other resting atop the table, close to where a cup sat, steam rising from it in faint wisps.

He gave no outward sign of noticing her presence. Then, the silky tone sounded though he did not turn his head. "You may join me for breakfast, Miss Grainger. I make a point of feeding my hostages well." The sarcasm made her roll her eyes. Some things never changed.

"As per instructions from 'The A to Z of Successful Abductions' no doubt," she retorted as she crossed the carpeted floor to take a seat at the table, putting as much distance between her and her companion as the amply proportioned furniture allowed. "The last copy of 'Kidnapping for Dummies' was sold out. I improvised," he sneered, raising his eyes from the paper to give her an imperious look. Hermione felt strangely like a student again, an adolescent, on the back foot in the presence of her teacher.

Suddenly, Kreacher was at her elbow, shoving a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fried tomato, sausage and beans in front of her. Hermione's eyes widened at the mountainous heaps of food.

"There must be a week's worth of food here!" she gasped, then caught sight of the crestfallen look on the old elf's wrinkled face. She picked up her fork and nodded appreciatively. "Which is a good thing because I for one, am starving," she hastened and was rewarded with a dour look from the elf. "We wastes no food like thoughtless muggles in this house," he grumbled, the closest thing to pleasure he was going to betray, she guessed.

Snape's inky gaze was back upon her and the corners of his mouth rose slightly. He was laughing at her, she knew. "I see you have been keeping up with house elf etiquette. You do realise that now he thinks you are wasting away and in need of feeding up, he will double his efforts for tea?" he said and Hermione's appetite dimmed considerably. So he intended that she would remain here throughout the day.

She met his gaze. "Professor, how long do you mean to keep me here?" she asked. Long fingers folded the paper crisply and it was set neatly on the linen tablecloth. "For as long as it takes, Miss Grainger. Malfoy must be stopped. He has been careful, meticulously so but he will make a mistake and when he does, it's off to Azkaban with him and off back to your safe little world with you," he replied.

"You make it all sound so neat and clear cut! While we wait for him to make a mistake, as you say he will, what am I supposed to do? And what about the Order? And the aurors? What is being done to catch him? And what if he manages to get his hands on the time turner anyway, have you thought of that?" she demanded.

His face remained a mask of composure and cool indifference. "So many questions, Miss Grainger. It is as though you have been saving them up. What you will do is keep the lowest of low profiles here as my guest. You can pretend all this is but a little holiday. The Order and the aurors have been keeping a very close eye on Lucius of late but have no reason to do anything. To all intents and purposes, he is rebuilding his life from the ashes of the war, atoning for the errors he is responsible for," Snape responded.

"But that isn't true. Harry and Ron.., she began but he raised a hand to silence her interruption. "They are doing what they can, Miss Grainger. Do not make me repeat myself. I am not a patient man. You will do well to simply listen and cease this worthless wittering,"he lashed her with his words and she flushed, the feeling of being a school girl once again returning forcefully.

"The need for utmost care is great. You have to trust me, this is for the best. This is the only way," he said, black eyes resolute.

She didn't look away, rather she kept her own brown gaze focused on him. "So you seem to think but you forget one thing. The time turner was given to me. I think that ought to give me some say in what happens here," her own tone was firm. He hid it well but she caught the flicker in his eyes.

She frowned. "What? You don't agree, Professor?" she pressed.

"Actually Miss Grainger, the point is moot. The time turner is no longer in your possession. It is in mine."

Hermione actually felt the blood drain from her face at his words. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over her. No, not water, acid. The cold feeling was chased swiftly by a hot swell that surged through her and she felt she may well be about to burst into flames.

"You took it? Mercy upon us, what are you, a common thief? You stole it from me?" she wasn't aware she had stood up until he rose to his feet before her.

"I removed it for safe keeping. And isn't breakfast a tad early for hysterics, Miss Grainger?"

But Hermione was barely listening anymore. Her mind whirred, thoughts a furious kaleidoscope spinning in her mind until a picture began to emerge that made her heart pound and nausea rise in her throat.

"Sit down, you little fool before you fall out of your standing again. Really all of this drama is unnecessary. How many times do you need to hear the same thing before you start to get it?" Snape said, seeing her sudden pallor and frowning at the way she was swaying as though tethered to the ground by the slightest of filaments. If she keeps this up she is going to make herself seriously ill, he thought, scowling darkly at the prospect.

She looked up at him as though seeing him for the first time, her eyes wide with fear, no more, terror.

Merlin alive, what was he do with this mercurial creature? Snape was not used to confronting the emotions of others and this rollercoaster that had come crashing into his life was starting to make him feel overwhelmed and he didn't like it, not one bit. He was a man who was accustomed to being in control. Even as he felt it slipping from him, he felt the anger of someone who was not quite sure what to do next assail him. He welcomed the familiar pulse. She was close to being catatonic and he had no idea why. He only knew he needed to snap her out of it and quickly.

"Hermione. Stop this at once," he said calmly, coldly and with the authority invested by his long years as Potions Master.

Perhaps that was what she responded to or perhaps it was the use of her given name but Hermione's gaze focused. She felt her head clear, she felt the numbness recede.

"You stole the time turner. Not Malfoy. You were the Dark Lord's most trusted servant. Not Malfoy. It is you who took me. Not Malfoy. There's only your word for any of it. How do I know that you don't want the time turner for yourself? This tale you are spinning, how do I know any of it is true?" the words tumbled from Hermione as her thoughts solidified.

He took two steps to close the distance between them, moving swiftly. His face was set so it may as well have been carved from granite. Only the blaze of his eyes betrayed the burn of his temper. She would have shied away but summoned her courage to stand her ground. But he did not raise his arms from his sides, he made no move to touch her.

Instead he fixed her with a look of his black eyes that pinned her in placed as surely as if he'd stunned her. "You don't," he said with silky clarity.

"So here it is. You can spend the next while living every moment as your last, waiting for me to deliver you to the Dark Lord like a lamb to the slaughter. That seems to me to be a terrible kind of torture, Hermione."

"Or you can make use of that dazzling intellect of yours. If I was planning on using the time turner myself, why have I not done so already? It has been in my possession for several hours. Why am I not hastening to use it for my nefarious purposes? What is there to stop me? You said it yourself, there is no one here to prevent it"

She blinked. Although it pained her to admit it, he was making sense.

Snape saw by her face his words were registering. Her colour returned. Here breathing grew less shallow. His gaze stayed locked on hers, holding her eyes as he might a sparrow cupped between his hands. She saw the pulse at his temples flutter. She saw how there were lines at the corners of his eyes that she didn't remember.

His hair tumbled to his shoulders like waves of midnight, the wings of grey at his temples like a shading of stars in the winter sky. His mouth was sternly set, lips slanted, the skin of his jaw smooth.

He leaned closer. Her lips parted without her thinking of it.

His hand shot forwards and captured her wrist, fingers firm and warm and his touch made her breath hitch.

"No one to stop me. No one at all," it was little more than a malicious whisper.

"Except you, Hermione," and she was jolted as though from an electric shock.

She gasped and then something slim and instinctively familiar to her was pressed against her palm.

He drew away, leaving a suddenly wrenching void as the room came back into focus. Hermione realised she was holding her wand and she sucked in a long and tremulous breath.

He held his hands out at his sides, palms outwards, the classic disavowal of harm. "You believe I am the villain of the piece? You are hardly the first. If you believe I took the time turner to conjure dark and wicked magic, then you can stop me. You can walk out that door, right now. The power and the choice are yours," he said and his voice was devoid of all emotion.

Hermione's head was spinning. She reeled from her strange reaction to him a moment ago, he was close enough so that his warmth caused her own skin to tingle strangely and those shapely lips hovered just above hers so that she thought he might kiss her. And had she wanted him to?

The question made her thoughts jangle as though there was a buzzing in her mind.

A few moments ago, she was so certain he was the embodiment of menace. Now she was not so sure. His words, his nearness, he was confusing her.

And now, looking at him, the moment melded before her eyes into another from many years before. He was standing in the old shack, Voldemort circling him and then Nagini's strike as he stood unarmed before the very face of evil.

The wand trembled in her hand. "This is a trick. If I were to try to use my wand you would disarm me. If I tried to leave you would prevent it," she said. In reply, he withdrew his own wand and slowly extended it towards her.

"Take it. I am giving it to you to save you the trouble of duelling me," he said, still in that impassive tone. Hermione simply stared at the hand he proferred.

"Take it, you obstinate brat!" he snapped and automatically she reached forward and took the wand from him. It felt heavy in her hand. And though she knew she was imagining it, it seemed to burn against her flesh.

She stared at him, the vision of the snake rending his flesh stronger now and she closed her eyes against it. She lowered her wand and her shoulders slumped as though a great weight rested on them.

Several seconds of silence descended, punctuated only by the sounds of her ragged breathing. "It is not so easy to use power to harm another is it? And believe me, I should know," his voice was soft. Almost gentle.

"Miss Grainger we are at an impasse. You don't want to be here. I don't want you here. But we have little option but to grin and bear it, to coin a phrase. And I do believe it will go easier on both of us if we can trust each other, even just a little," he said.

Feeling as though she had gone ten rounds with a hippogriff, Hermione's nod was barely perceptible.

She set his wand on the gleaming white of the table cloth and turned away.

She wished she could make sense of what had just happened. But Hermione was at sea, utterly out of her depth. There was no known marker to cling to and so he may be right. It seemed she had little choice but to trust him, at least for the moment.

Snape's brow furrowed as he looked at her. She looked beaten, deflated and it gave him the uneasy feeling of one who had crushed a butterfly beneath their boot. His frown deepened at the thought. This idiotic girl was making a ridiculous amount of trouble for the both of them. And if he felt an unfamiliar ache at seeing her shoulders hunch, then it was purely from the exertion of keeping his temper in check, he told himself. It was harder to explain the impulse to reach out and run his fingers along the tumbling curls as they caught the morning light.

And so he turned sharply on his heel and strode to the door. "I will be gone for a few hours. I need to return to Hogwarts. Try not to be a trial for Kreacher while I'm gone," he jibed as he exited.

Finding herself alone at last, Hermione reminded her self to breathe.


	3. Chapter 3

She was aware that he had left her wand with her. There was nothing to stop her leaving, nothing she could identify, at least. Kreacher would be no obstacle. She could contact Harry or Ron, that seemed like a good first step. She paced the empty dining room, her thoughts churning furiously.

They had known about this, they had done nothing to warn her. The sense of betrayal she felt spiked sharply and the idea of reaching out to them lost whatever appeal it may have had. What could she rely on them to do? Race to her rescue or shop her to Snape? Allowing that he was telling her the truth, the latter seemed most likely.

Hermione paused in her pacing. He had returned her wand. He had gone out, leaving her unguarded with the exception of an ancient and frail house elf. It was a test. He was waiting to see if he could trust her or if she would attempt to escape the very first minute his back was turned.

She nodded to herself, yes, she was sure of it. Then, he would make good on his threat to restrain her and the limited freedom she had would be gone.

He was devious and clever, she knew that. So she had to be even more clever. The long game, she remembered a muggle expression her father used to describe the political machinations of rivals for parliament. That was what she would have to plan for. Vague tendrils of an idea had been solidifying in her mind over night and though she had no true model of a plan as of yet, even the first inklings forming made Hermione feel better. The very thought brought a sense of control back and so, she left the dining room with a lighter step and a cheerier disposition.

She would make sure to appear to co-operate, draw no suspicion from her captor. Snape had the instincts of a cat, he was very perceptive and sensitive to deception to a very high degree. Getting him to relax his vigilance would not be easy or swiftly achieved. Hermione was not phased, if there was one thing she excelled at, it was being the top of the class.

And while getting Snape to lower his guard, she would work at earning Kreacher's confidence. If contacting Harry or Ron was not an option, Hermione could thing of one other, a person whose integrity was above reproach. All she needed was a conduit and to figure out a way of establishing communication.

So, she passed the day exploring the large expanse of the manor, dedicating herself to playing the role of one settling into unfamiliar surroundings. Within the first hour, she was intrigued. His home was well maintained, tidy to the point of obsession, organised, tasteful. It reflected Snape's well ordered life perfectly. Nothing too personal was displayed, no careless clutter to be found.

Instead, each room was furnished with well chosen pieces, many of which had to be antique and probably priceless. Art works hung on the wall, hunting scenes with horses cantering blithely across the verdant English countryside and forest scenes, with large, leafy trees, boughs swaying in time to an invisible breeze.

When she reached a large room on the second floor, Hermione discovered a blazing fire in a large, stone hearth and attracted by the homely sight, entered the room, delighted to find herself in the most expansive library she had ever seen outside of Hogwarts.

Shelves of gleaming rosewood soared upwards, cherry tables were positioned at intervals around the room and beside the hearth, an overstuffed, chintz covered sofa sat, looking incongruously plain and ratty in this elegant room. On a spindle legged table situated right beside the sofa, a large mug of butterbeer beckoned invitingly.

But for several moments, all Hermione could look at were the books. Shelf after shelf, row after row, leather bound volumes were lined in regimented order. She took an involuntary step towards the nearest of the shelves, running her hand along the first row of books.

She recognised some titles as the latest publications from practitioners in the field of medicinal wizardry. Then, there were older texts, some clearly from antiquity and her fingers just itched to pluck them from the shelves.

"The mud blood acts as though she owns the house. Roams as she pleases. Touches Master's things. Oh the boldness of it, as though Kreacher has not his own work but time to clean her tracks," the cracked voice and trail of verbal vinegar betrayed the presence of the old elf but for his part, he gave no noticeable sign of recognition of Hermione. He pottered about the room as though alone, muttering about the burdens placed on him by the unwanted one.

Hermione continued her study of the books in front of her. "I am sorry, Kreacher for imposing on you like this. I realise this is your home. And I can see how hard you work to keep it nice."

The old elf paused in his diatribe. "Master's home. It is Kreacher's duty to keep it. Kreacher does his duty with honour. Kreacher is not lazy."

Hermione still did not look around but she had a feeling he was giving her occasional glances. She smiled. The surly little creature was the closest thing to a friend she had now.

"Thank you for the fire and the butterbeer." She waited, hearing him shuffle about.

"Master's orders. Unwanted one is to be made comfortable," his tone suggested that it was his view that a pile of straw for a bed and the leavings from the table for meals would be comfort enough for her. Yet he had brought her most cherished belongings to her from her home. The butterbeer and the fire, she doubted Snape had instructed that.

Hermione was touched at his kindness and heartened by the tentative bond between them. He remembered her, she knew it. He had his flaws but Kreacher was intrinsically loyal. His portrayal of one whose natural inclination leaned to the dark side was convincing and had fooled her and Harry and Ron during the darkest days of the Voldemort's rise.

She knew better now. He harboured a great deal of integrity. And if she was to get to the bottom of what was happening, that would be her chief ally. Her sole ally, she amended.

"The mud blood spills it, the mud blood cleans it," the elf retreated.

Hermione selected a book and sat to drink the butterbeer and browse through it, meaning to spend but a short time here.

She kicked her shoes off and tucked her legs beneath her as she turned the pages of an intriguing account of medieval herbology.

It may have been the heat from the blazing logs, it may have been the warmth of the butterbeer or the enveloping softness of the sofa but before she realised it, her eyes were closing. The book dangled from her hand and before she knew it she was fast asleep.

Which was how Snape found her when he returned late in the evening.

He walked into the library and the caustic remark he was about to make about her helping herself to his private collection of books died on his lips.

Her hair tumbled over the cushion her head was resting on, a fall of amber tinted bronze that framed a face that looked young and very sweet now that she was at rest and not frowning at him as though he were a Hungarian ridgeback.

Her chest rose with each intake of breath, her breasts softly rounded peaks. Her lips were slightly parted, her lashes rested on her cheekbones, delicate and fanlike. Her skin was milky, roses bloomed in her cheeks and as he stood above her, Snape thought how marvellously untouched she looked. Fresh as a spring flower and quite lovely.

He reached out before he quite knew what he was doing and let the backs of his fingers trail along the fine line of her jaw, finding her skin warm and soft, like new velvet. She stirred and he pulled back, reaching instead to lift the book from her hand.

Her eyes opened, for one second unworried and pure topaz. Then, her pupils widened and her gaze darkened as recognition dawned.

She struggled into a sitting position. "You shouldn't have snuck up on me like that!"

Her accusing tone had his lips curling disdainfully as he set the book on the end table.

"With the way you were snoring, I could have a had a brass band play me in here and you wouldn't have noticed," he drawled.

Colour rose in her face. "I do not snore!"

He rose a shapely eyebrow. "That must be a deal clincher for Mr. Finnegan, then," he said smoothly.

Further indignation had her rising to her feet. How did he know about Seamus? Of course, once a spy, always a spy!

"Not that it is any of your business but Seamus and I are no longer seeing each other," she said in her best ministry official tone. It usually worked very well as discouraging unwelcome chit chat. He, though, seemed immune. "Like Mr Krum and our own dear Mr Weasley, I take it he didn't quite match up to the Granger standard of romantic excellence, then? Didn't know the difference between a hex and a curse? Couldn't recall the chapter on the enchanted ceiling verbatim from 'Hogwarts; A History'?"

He flicked an invisible blemish from the sleeve of his robe, as though bored of her presence. That and his mocking tone sent a searing anger through her.

"I have no trouble finding all the romantic excellence I could want, Professor!" she snapped.

He regarded her coolly as though just remembering she was there. "Then perhaps it is not a reputation for snoring you should be worried about."

Her mouth fell open at the insult. How dare he? "You are a disgusting, hateful man!" she threw the words at him, feeling rather like a small child stamping their foot in frustration.

"And you are late for dinner. That is what I came in here to tell you. Kreacher served some minutes ago. I do not like to be kept waiting, Miss Granger."

He turned on his heel and was out of the door before she had time to answer.

She struggled into her shoes. What a rude and insufferable man he was, she thought unhappily. And she had been having such a nice nap, she had even dreamed of a soft summer breeze caressing her face and it had felt so nice, it hardly seemed like a dream at all.


	4. Chapter 4

The dining room table was laid as though for a feast. Candles glowed in shimmering candelabra. A platter of golden roast potatoes sat alongside a succulent roast, there were piles of fluffy Yorkshire puddings and creamy mash potatoes, bowls of carrots and a steaming gravy boat.

"Do you always eat like this, Professor?" Hermione marvelled. "It appears Kreacher has plumbed new culinary heights, Miss Granger. In as much as I knew, his idea of gravy extended to amassing a collection of gloopy lumps in one bowl and adding water."

The meal certainly tasted as delicious as it looked ,though it passed in silence, apart from the sound of the silver cutlery against the porcelain plates.

As Hermione laid her knife and fork down, she moved her chair back, thinking to retire to her bedroom, her company was clearly an interminable burden on her host.

Snape looked up, his black eyes holding her in place. "Miss Granger, a moment, please."

Hermione found herself easing back into the chair she was about to vacate.

"I do not think we have a had a chance yet to go through some house rules."

He dabbed at his lips with a crisp linen napkin and then leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, clasping his fingers beneath his chin.

He was very economical with his movements, Hermione thought to herself. It gave him physical grace and she admitted, a presence that was compelling.

"You will not be locked in. This is a large house and you are free to make yourself at home in it. I note that you have found the library and seem to take an interest in my collection. You may treat the books as your own."

Hermione was taken aback at his hospitality and opened her mouth about to thank him but he rose a slim hand to stop her.

"However, know this. This is not a stay at the Hilton. The grounds are off limits, we cannot afford to have anyone outside of the Order know where you are. So you do not leave the house alone for any reason, any reason whatsoever," his face remained impassive but his eyes glittered sternly at her. The Potions Master laying out ground rules for incorrigible students.

"Neither are you to attempt to make contact with anyone outside of this house. We do not know if the floo network is being monitored, owls certainly will be and the risk of communication being intercepted is too dangerous to contemplate."

"If you break either of these rules and you will be restrained and you won't like it very much, Miss Granger."

"I have no desire to make this little venture any more unpleasant for you than it has to be but if you put yourself at risk, if you put what must be achieved here at risk, then I will make you sorry you even learned to spell rebellion much less practise it."

He didn't raise his voice and he made no move to physically intimidate her but Hermione suppressed a shiver. She was in doubt he meant every word.

"You returned my wand. Seeing as you have no faith that I am fit for anything more strenuous than the type of activity suited to the novice, I cannot but wonder why?"

He rose a brow and inhaled.

"Your capability is not the issue. Your ego, on the other hand, is rather suffocating."

His quip had her frowning indignantly. "In your version of this story, you are the protagonist. Poor, hard done by Hermione. Misunderstood and under valued. The reality is that the entire world of wizardry, everything held dear by countless families, every sacrifice made to keep our world safe stands before dire peril."

The words came like hexes, discharged swiftly and with deadly accuracy.

"So believe me when I say that trampling a little on your feelings is a thing of zero concern to me. And if you could look beyond your own perceived self importance, if I could see one slight glimmer of that, perhaps I would be somewhat reassured that you are equal to task ahead."

Hermione blinked, scalded by his words.

"May I go now, Professor?" she stood and gave him her best impervious look. But they both knew he had made his point. He nodded once and looked away. Feeling that she had been dismissed like a child after a lecture, Hermione walked from the room and climbed the stairs.

He acted like he ruled the very world. She was not a helpless damson in distress, she was not an inept First Year student in his care. As she climbed, her temper rose accordingly. The Professor needed a lesson of his own. Hermione Granger was no longer a Hogwarts student, she was not a little girl, she was an adult and as someone who had fought against the Dark Lord, who had committed to securing his fall, she had every right to feel aggrieved that no one believed her to be trusted with ensuring he did not return.


End file.
